Breath
by Annalisse Rubisher
Summary: Bellatrix's life from birth, to her last dying breath. One-sided Bellatrix/OFC and practically platonic Rabastan/Bellatrix. Written for The Quidditch League Competition.


**Title**: Breath

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

**Rating**: M (Only due to certain themes)

**Challenges/Prompts**: The Slash/Femmeslash Boot Camp (prompt #8, Rain) and The Quidditch League Competition; character: Bellatrix Black; optional prompts: #2, Destruction; prompt #14, "And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on." - Neil Hilborn, OCD; and prompt #15, Dialogue: "Your father and I disagree; you are forbidden..."

**Disclaimer**: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warning(s)**: Drama, gore, dark themes, and torture.

**Pairings**: One-sided Bellatrix/OFC, practically platonic Rabastan/Bellatrix

**Summary**: Bellatrix's life from birth, to her _last dying breath_...

* * *

**Part Ⅰ**

* * *

"Madam Black," the Healer called out, in a certain hushed tone. The woman cradled the new-born child, and quickly placed the black-haired screaming child onto a table. A quick snip, some whispered _Cleaning_ and _Cleansing_ charms, and the baby was once again lifted in her arms.

One look at the child, and Madam Black sniffed.

"She'll be good enough," she had muttered. "No shame in a healthy, strong girl; especially in a family such as ours."

Madam Black opened up her arms with a nod and beckoned the Healer forward.

With no hesitancy in her step, the woman carefully placed the child in Madam Black's arms. With that small burden given to her family, she checked the woman's vitals, content to see that there had been no complications with either the child or the mother.

* * *

**Part Ⅱ**

* * *

The child, now known as Bellatrix Black, born to Druella Black née Rosier and Cygnus Black, grew up as happily a child could. She had two parents, two younger sisters, all the toys she could ever want, and house elves to look after her.

However, she only spoke when she felt it prudent. She found she liked it best in the quiet. It was a day, in the quiet, that she found she also liked to _destroy_ things.

One day, while it was raining, she was sitting alone in her room, staring up at the ceiling. _Pitter_-_patter_, she heard, tapping along to the window on her dress.

A particularly loud clash of thunder made her sit straight up and look outside with interest, which was when saw she it. The clap immediately followed the flash of ray in the pitch-black sky, and the eerie sounds of the gusty night caused her to shiver in anticipation.

Another burst of white-light, and then another. Her captivation with the thunder grew and grew, as time went on, from that day forward.

She spent several weeks on that one subject, looking up the magical properties of the natural elements, especially fire and lightning. She felt herself oddly entranced.

Several years later, when she was finally permitted the use of a practice wand, she immediately cast one of the spells she had read about on the bark of a tree.

"_Incendio_," she had muttered, and her eyes brightened significantly when the wood was immediately met with the reddish flame that had burst from her wand. She spent many moments simply staring at the fire, as it grew hotter and hotter, and spread farther and farther onto the rest of the tree.

Eventually, her Aunt Walburga had found her out in the garden.

"Bella," the older woman had called out, worriedly.

When she got closer, she immediately cast a spell to get rid of the flame, and chastised Bellatrix for using such dangerous magic, especially when there wasn't a person nearby to watch over her.

But all Bella could focus on was the _power_ of it.

* * *

**Part Ⅲ**

* * *

Sitting down gracefully onto the seat, Bella waited patiently for her newest companion to be allowed entrance. She spent a few moments arranging her robes just so, and then several other moments stroking the length of her practice wand. A certain twitch in her hand would be the only acknowledgment of her sudden urge to _do_ something. What, she never really knew.

The entrance door opened silently, and the movement caught Bella's observant eyes. A soft voice called, "Hello?"

She repeated the greeting right back, and the door opened wider. A girl with the brightest eyes she had ever seen cautiously walked in.

Her hair was a dark shade of red, reminding Bella of red-roses and blood. Her eyes were a brilliant grey, as dark as the storms Bella had found herself fascinated by, yet as light as the thunder that had flashed across the skies.

She watched the girl with interest as she fidgeted restlessly, before dropping into the nearest chair almost as Bella had done herself.

"My name is Jeanée Badeaux," she started off shyly, wringing her small hands on her lap. The pleasant girl hid her gentle face beneath a thin fringe of her crimson hair.

"Bonjour, Jeanée. I am Bellatrix Black," her instilled manners had kicked in.

The rest of the day after that chance meeting, all Bella could think of was her hair, reminiscent of the brightest and darkest of rubies, and her grey eyes.

* * *

**Part Ⅳ**

* * *

Several months passed, and Bella never saw that girl again. Upon her casually made inquiry, she had learned that the girl had only been in England for a holiday, and had subsequent engagements in her home country.

However, the next meeting to be of significance to her was the first day she had met the Lestranges.

The Blacks and Lestranges hadn't been as close as any of the other close-knit pure-blooded families, so it was a surprise to Bella and her sisters that the family would be invited over for dinner at their Manor.

"It is only to establish a connection," their mother had drawled, as she sipped her wine. She promptly spat out the beverage and called for the house elf in charge of the food. No other information had been offered up after that.

Both of the younger children, Rodolphus and Rabastan, were quiet, if only in the tones of their voices. Rodolphus' voice had a slight rasp to it, while Rabastan seemed to be relatively _normal_.

Bella found she could spend hours in their company, as they hardly made any sort of noise. Bar that, she held no specific interest in either of them, and promptly forgot who they were the next day.

* * *

**Part Ⅴ**

* * *

The Sorting at Hogwarts was loud. The constant chatter of the children behind the doors made her want to clamp her hands over her ears, as she couldn't deal with _so much noise_.

She was one of the first to go, and she neither stumbled, nor did she have any sort of awareness in her surroundings.

Her blank face surveyed the crowd, and the Hall was silent. One of the professors placed the Hat upon her wild and dark curls, like the encircling thicket of a rose bush, and promptly Sorted her into _Slytherin_. Having had no doubt of that, she simply hopped down from the stool and sashayed towards the table with little interest. She lost track of the events after that.

She noted that the girl she had met all of those years ago was still nowhere to be found, and was probably living in France. She hushed her subconscious and focussed on nothing.

* * *

**Part Ⅵ**

* * *

The day she got her first kiss was the first day she understood the satisfaction in both sexual pleasure, and the screaming cries of another wizard in pain. It caused shudders to vibrate up and down her spine, and she spent a good many months reliving her grim gratification, and the face of the boy that had dared touch her.

* * *

**Part Ⅶ**

* * *

When she was fifteen, Bellatrix's mother and father announced her inevitable engagement to Rodolphus Lestrange. She thought back to the French girl, and then to her responsibilities.

She never understood why she had hesitated for that one second before nodding her head.

* * *

**Part Ⅷ**

* * *

A younger boy in Slytherin robes approached her, and she instantly recognized him as Lucius Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she greeted in her usual soft-spoken manner. The flaxen-haired wizard smirked as he arched an eyebrow, and greeted her in a similar manner.

"Black."

"What is it that you require?"

He leaned in closer, and she could smell the light spray of cologne surrounding him.

"The Dark Lord demands a meeting with one of the more… extraordinary females of the Blacks."

When he stepped away, Bella's usually blank face held a ring of fascination to it.

She sent a rare owl to her parents, and was met with a letter fairly vibrating with their adjoined approval.

A year later, she was contacted with the name and coordinates of the place she would arrive at.

She placed her customary mask on, shrugged on her darkest of robes, and Apparated to the location. Another wizard on temporary guard quickly ushered her in, before the door slammed close behind her.

The corridor of the building was dark, but for the torches that lit up the walls and path with their flame. She tried to breath in the scent, but was disappointed in the conclusion that it was just a well-done Glamour.

She strolled down the hallway with long strides, before she reached another door. Opening it smoothly, she was greeted with the sight of an even darker room. All of the others in dark robes were standing, while those in the middle of their circle were kneeling on the floor.

She quickly took her place among the new recruits, and waited with bated breath.

She wasn't surprised in the least when several minutes passed, and the Dark Lord had only _just_ made his appearance. She treasured the silence, and closed her eyes in bliss.

The thudding of his footfalls alerted her to his presence, and Bellatrix could feel the Darkness of his power. It filled the room with its suffocating miasma, and her nostrils filled with the scent of it all.

"Rise," he ordered of them, and she did so with a relish.

When he looked up, she was greeted with the most handsome of faces. The man that towered over them had pale skin, and the darkest of hair. She felt herself comparing Jeanée and this mysterious man, this Dark Lord, and knew she would serve with her last dying breath.

He spoke of his goals, of his disgust of the Mudbloods, of his anger at the mere suggestion that they should have a place in _their_ society, and she drank it in. She felt as if she hadn't heard any truer words, and was filled with a peculiar heady sensation. She felt the coming of something, and she shivered in anticipation for it.

That was when _she_ came in. She was to be Bellatrix's test, and was thrown onto the floor with a thud.

Bellatrix's heart sped up when she heard the familiar sound of the woman's voice, and realized that this was that girl from so long ago. Her hair was the same vibrant shade, and the paleness of her skin accentuated it. She was beauty, she was fragility.

Her fierce gaze locked onto her own, and Bellatrix's breath came in shortened inhalations. _This_ would be hers. This moment. This sensation. She replayed that first meeting, and licked her suddenly dry lips.

Lifting up her wand, she uttered the spell she had always wanted to try.

"_Crucio_," and it slipped off of her tongue as if it had always belonged there. She heard maniacal laughter, and found it to be her own. Jeanée's body launched up, and a spasm shook her. Her screams grew higher and higher in pitch, and her scarlet hair was a mess. Sweat poured off her skin, and the blood Bellatrix had long-ago compared her hair was everywhere. Any parts of the skin that the girl dug her finger nails into, her teeth into, were alive with her life's blood.

Bellatrix would never forget that day.

For that girl had never looked more beautiful.

* * *

**Part Ⅸ**

* * *

The day Andromeda had run away with her Mudblood boyfriend, was a particularly _silent_ day.

It had happened late at night, when her parents were sure none of them would be awake. They had settled into one of the drawing rooms, and had calmly dictated their terms. Then they had escalated into arguing, with subtly toned threats, and gesticulations that hid none of their anger.

"Your father and I disagree; you are forbidden from ever seeing that… that boy, again!" her mother had voiced, tone icy in its dark calm.

Andy had just tossed her hair over her shoulder, eyed her viciously, and that had been it.

The next day, Bellatrix never spoke of her idiot sister. Instead, she mourned her for what she could've been, and for the terrible choices she had made.

The blasting of her name from the Tree was never spoken of.

* * *

**Part Ⅹ**

* * *

The day of Bellatrix's wedding was _not_ one of significance. She feels no need to remember it.

* * *

**Part XI**

* * *

The Dark Lord's call came in a burst of pain, and Bellatrix spied her husband clutching his own arm in a sudden spasm. Both of them quickly jumped off their seats during dinner and beat a hasty retreat to the landing.

Once there, they each held onto their respective Marks and went to where the Dark Lord commanded them.

The mission they were given was one of fevered excitement. Rabastan and Barty Crouch Jr. would be accompanying them to the Longbottoms.

They were ordered to do whatever they felt was needed until their Lord arrived.

Several hours later, and a different sort of pain laced through their arms. Bellatrix's eyes went blank, and her expression calmed.

A whispered _Finite_ and the Aurors surrounded them all.

She remembered the moment when she had finally snapped, and then there was complete silence.

And then there was screaming… And pain… And terror…

* * *

**Part XII**

* * *

The days after that were a blur of motion and voices. At times, she would have a moment of clarity and wonder just how she had ended up where she was.

Azkaban was a cool, harsh place. The meals were bland and tasteless – but she wouldn't have known the difference between a four-star meal, and a thick porridge – and the silence was sparse, at best.

Days blended into nights, and nights into days, and months into hours, and years into minutes. Bellatrix could hardly tell when day had approached, and night had returned; the prisoners weren't allowed the idea of light, not anymore.

The day her dear blood traitor cousin had broken out of Azkaban was hardly a ping on her inner-radar. She couldn't tell you whether she remembered the day or not, so out of it she had been at the time.

But then the Dark Lord came back. Her Mark burned with the force of his return, and the pain laced through her body. She let out a maniacal fit of laughter – or was she screaming? – and counted the days until he came and brought her out. _She_ who had been his most faithful servant.

But she couldn't remember the value of time, and could hardly remember what the air tasted like.

When she was finally out and about, she immediately looked for the lightest place, and one filled with silence. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of the grass, of the trees, of everything, and knew she would never again give this up.

The meetings were their own new distortion, as she was already up and about, torturing Mudbloods and Half-bloods, and she couldn't even tell the difference between the ones she fought with and the scum of the world anymore.

All she knew was her desire for silence, for destruction, and for the Dark Lord's approval.

Wait, had she always wanted that? She could no longer remember anymore. It was all just bleak, and dark, and _red_. The colour red had some sort of significance…

And then the Boy-Who-Lived had come to her sweet little sister's Manor, and her nephew had failed to identify him. She could remember the desperation coursing through her veins, of a forgotten feeling – _fear _– and the torturous moans that rolled off her tongue, out of her mouth, and echoed through her ears.

She had failed, and Cissy had failed, and she needed to undo such failure. She wasn't Lucius, whom she had once thanked for the message of the meeting. No, all she needed was to know she _hadn't failed_.

And the Final Battle was upon them, and how had she gotten there?

She mocked those with some sort of babyish voice – was that even _her_ anymore – and then there was all red_red__**red**_ and she wanted it to go away, and wanted her silence back. She lashed out, teased the girl with the pale skin and freckles, and instantly knew her for the _blood traitor_ she was, for she was a _Weasley_ if she had ever seen one.

Then, she had lifted her wand, and cast.

And then when she turned, all she saw was the _sickly_ green of the curse she had once dreamt of casting, and then _she _was there again. Jeanée, with her sweet voice, gentle face, and her vibrant grey eyes.

And then she knew nothing.

* * *

**Author**'**s Note**:

Just wanted to thank my magnificent beta, Cleo, for making sure I had all of the facts about the Blacks straight. Hehe! :D

Please leave a review before you favorite! ^~^


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